The Complete Works of William Shakespeare by William Shakespeare (moboreader .TXT) 📕

ESCALUS. I think no less. Good morrow to your lordship.

[Exit ANGELO] Now, sir, come on; what was done to Elbow’s wife, once more?

POMPEY. Once?- sir. There was nothing done to her once.

ELBOW. I beseech you, sir, ask him what this man did to my wife.

POMPEY. I beseech your honour, ask me.

ESCALUS. Well, sir, what did this gentleman to her?

POMPEY. I beseech you, sir, look in this gentleman’s face. Good Master Froth, look upon his honour; ‘tis for a good purpose. Doth your honour mark his face?

ESCALUS. Ay, sir, very well.

POMPEY. Nay, I beseech you, mark it well.

ESCALUS. Well, I do so.

POMPEY. Doth your honour see any harm in his face?

ESCALUS. Why, no.

POMPEY. I’ll be suppos’d upon a book his face is the worst thing about him. Good then; if his face be the worst thing about him, how could Master Froth do the constable’s wife any harm? I would know that of your honour.

ESCALUS. He’s in the right, constable; what say you to it?

ELBOW. First, an it like you, the house is a respected house; next, this is a respected fellow; and his mistress is a respected woman.

POMPEY. By this hand, sir, his wife is a more respected person than any of us all.

ELBOW. Varlet, thou liest; thou liest, wicket varlet; the time is yet to come that she was ever respected with man, woman, or child.

POMPEY. Sir, she was respected with him before he married with her.

ESCALUS. Which is the wiser here, Justice or Iniquity? Is this true?

ELBOW. O thou caitiff! O thou varlet! O thou wicked Hannibal! I respected with her before I was married to her! If ever I was respected with her, or she with me, let not your worship think me the poor Duke’s officer. Prove this, thou wicked Hannibal, or I’ll have mine action of batt’ry on thee.

ESCALUS. If he took you a box o’ th’ ear, you might have your action of slander too.

ELBOW. Marry, I thank your good worship for it. What is’t your worship’s pleasure I shall do with this wicked caitiff?

ESCALUS. Truly, officer, because he hath some offences in him that thou wouldst discover if thou couldst, let him continue in his courses till thou know’st what they are.

ELBOW. Marry, I thank your worship for it. Thou seest, thou wicked varlet, now, what’s come upon thee: thou art to continue now, thou varlet; thou art to continue.

ESCALUS. Where were you born, friend?

FROTH. Here in Vienna, sir.

ESCALUS. Are you of fourscore pounds a year?

FROTH. Yes, an’t please you, sir.

ESCALUS. So. What trade are you of, sir?

POMPEY. A tapster, a poor widow’s tapster.

ESCALUS. Your mistress’ name?

POMPEY. Mistress Overdone.

ESCALUS. Hath she had any more than one husband?

POMPEY. Nine, sir; Overdone by the last.

ESCALUS. Nine! Come hither to me, Master Froth. Master Froth, I would not have you acquainted with tapsters: they will draw you, Master Froth, and you will hang them. Get you gone, and let me hear no more of you.

FROTH. I thank your worship. For mine own part, I never come into any room in a taphouse but I am drawn in.

ESCALUS. Well, no more of it, Master Froth; farewell. [Exit FROTH]

Come you hither to me, Master Tapster; what’s your name, Master Tapster?

POMPEY. Pompey.

ESCALUS. What else?

POMPEY. Bum, sir.

ESCALUS. Troth, and your bum is the greatest thing about you; so that, in the beastliest sense, you are Pompey the Great. Pompey, you are partly a bawd, Pompey, howsoever you colour it in being a tapster. Are you not? Come, tell me true; it shall be the better for you.

POMPEY. Truly, sir, I am a poor fellow that would live.

ESCALUS. How would you live, Pompey-by being a bawd? What do you think of the trade, Pompey? Is it a lawful trade?

POMPEY. If the law would allow it, sir.

ESCALUS. But the law will not allow it, Pompey; nor it shall not be allowed in Vienna.

POMPEY. Does your worship mean to geld and splay all the youth of the city?

ESCALUS. No, Pompey.

POMPEY. Truly, sir, in my poor opinion, they will to’t then. If your worship will take order for the drabs and the knaves, you need not to fear the bawds.

ESCALUS. There is pretty orders beginning, I can tell you: but it is but heading and hanging.

POMPEY. If you head and hang all that offend that way but for ten year together, you’ll be glad to give out a commission for more heads; if this law hold in Vienna ten year, I’ll rent the fairest house in it, after threepence a bay. If you live to see this come to pass, say Pompey told you so.

ESCALUS. Thank you, good Pompey; and, in requital of your prophecy, hark you: I advise you, let me not find you before me again upon any complaint whatsoever-no, not for dwelling where you do; if I do, Pompey, I shall beat you to your tent, and prove a shrewd Caesar to you; in plain dealing, Pompey, I shall have you whipt.

So for this time, Pompey, fare you well.

POMPEY. I thank your worship for your good counsel; [Aside] but I shall follow it as the flesh and fortune shall better determine.

Whip me? No, no; let carman whip his jade; The valiant heart’s not whipt out of his trade. Exit ESCALUS. Come hither to me, Master Elbow; come hither, Master Constable. How long have you been in this place of constable?

ELBOW. Seven year and a half, sir.

ESCALUS. I thought, by the readiness in the office, you had continued in it some time. You say seven years together?

ELBOW. And a half, sir.

ESCALUS. Alas, it hath been great pains to you! They do you wrong to put you so oft upon’t. Are there not men in your ward sufficient to serve it?

ELBOW. Faith, sir, few of any wit in such matters; as they are chosen, they are glad to choose me for them; I do it for some piece of money, and go through with all.

ESCALUS. Look you, bring me in the names of some six or seven, the most sufficient of your parish.

ELBOW. To your worship’s house, sir?

ESCALUS. To my house. Fare you well. [Exit ELBOW]

What’s o’clock, think you?

JUSTICE. Eleven, sir.

ESCALUS. I pray you home to dinner with me.

JUSTICE. I humbly thank you.

ESCALUS. It grieves me for the death of Claudio; But there’s no remedy.

JUSTICE. Lord Angelo is severe.

ESCALUS. It is but needful:

Mercy is not itself that oft looks so; Pardon is still the nurse of second woe.

But yet, poor Claudio! There is no remedy.

Come, sir. Exeunt

SCENE II.

Another room in ANGELO’S house

Enter PROVOST and a SERVANT

SERVANT. He’s hearing of a cause; he will come straight.

I’ll tell him of you.

PROVOST. Pray you do. [Exit SERVANT] I’ll know His pleasure; may be he will relent. Alas, He hath but as offended in a dream!

All sects, all ages, smack of this vice; and he To die for ‘t!

Enter ANGELO

ANGELO. Now, what’s the matter, Provost?

PROVOST. Is it your will Claudio shall die tomorrow?

ANGELO. Did not I tell thee yea? Hadst thou not order?

Why dost thou ask again?

PROVOST. Lest I might be too rash;

Under your good correction, I have seen When, after execution, judgment hath

Repented o’er his doom.

ANGELO. Go to; let that be mine.

Do you your office, or give up your place, And you shall well be spar’d.

PROVOST. I crave your honour’s pardon.

What shall be done, sir, with the groaning Juliet?

She’s very near her hour.

ANGELO. Dispose of her

To some more fitter place, and that with speed.

Re-enter SERVANT

SERVANT. Here is the sister of the man condemn’d Desires access to you.

ANGELO. Hath he a sister?

PROVOST. Ay, my good lord; a very virtuous maid, And to be shortly of a sisterhood,

If not already.

ANGELO. Well, let her be admitted. Exit SERVANT

See you the fornicatress be remov’d;

Let her have needful but not lavish means; There shall be order for’t.

Enter Lucio and ISABELLA PROVOST. [Going] Save your honour!

ANGELO. Stay a little while. [To ISABELLA] Y’are welcome; what’s your will?

ISABELLA. I am a woeful suitor to your honour, Please but your honour hear me.

ANGELO. Well; what’s your suit?

ISABELLA. There is a vice that most I do abhor, And most desire should meet the blow of justice; For which I would not plead, but that I must; For which I must not plead, but that I am At war ‘twixt will and will not.

ANGELO. Well; the matter?

ISABELLA. I have a brother is condemn’d to die; I do beseech you, let it be his fault, And not my brother.

PROVOST. [Aside] Heaven give thee moving graces.

ANGELO. Condemn the fault and not the actor of it!

Why, every fault’s condemn’d ere it be done; Mine were the very cipher of a function, To fine the faults whose fine stands in record, And let go by the actor.

ISABELLA. O just but severe law!

I had a brother, then. Heaven keep your honour!

LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Give’t not o’er so; to him again, entreat him, Kneel down before him, hang upon his gown; You are too cold: if you should need a pin, You could not with more tame a tongue desire it.

To him, I say.

ISABELLA. Must he needs die?

ANGELO. Maiden, no remedy.

ISABELLA. Yes; I do think that you might pardon him.

And neither heaven nor man grieve at the mercy.

ANGELO. I will not do’t.

ISABELLA. But can you, if you would?

ANGELO. Look, what I will not, that I cannot do.

ISABELLA. But might you do’t, and do the world no wrong, If so your heart were touch’d with that remorse As mine is to him?

ANGELO. He’s sentenc’d; ‘tis too late.

LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] You are too cold.

ISABELLA. Too late? Why, no; I, that do speak a word, May call it back again. Well, believe this: No ceremony that to great ones longs, Not the king’s crown nor the deputed sword, The marshal’s truncheon nor the judge’s robe, Become them with one half so good a grace As mercy does.

If he had been as you, and you as he, You would have slipp’d like him; but he, like you, Would not have been so stern.

ANGELO. Pray you be gone.

ISABELLA. I would to heaven I had your potency, And you were Isabel! Should it then be thus?

No; I would tell what ‘twere to be a judge And what a prisoner.

LUCIO. [To ISABELLA] Ay, touch him; there’s the vein.

ANGELO. Your brother is a forfeit of the law, And you but waste your words.

ISABELLA. Alas! Alas!

Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took Found out the remedy. How would you be If He, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you as you are? O, think on that; And mercy then will breathe within your lips, Like man new made.

ANGELO. Be you content, fair maid.

It is the law, not I condemn your brother.

Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, It should be thus with him. He must die tomorrow.

ISABELLA. Tomorrow! O, that’s sudden! Spare him, spare him.

He’s not prepar’d for death. Even for our kitchens We kill the fowl of season; shall we serve heaven With less respect than we do minister To our gross selves? Good, good my lord, bethink you.

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